Modern Maidens
by AxleBoost
Summary: More than a century after Team RWBY’s legendary triumph over the dark witch Salem, the world enjoys a season of peace, finally unburdened by the creatures of Grimm. However, as four young women soon learn, peace always comes at a cost. (AU)
1. Introduction-1

1 - M

Maize was going to be late. Her long strides across the campus mall left her winded, but she pressed on anyway. If she made it on time, this would all be worth it in the end. The fresh scent of pine and soft breeze helped Maize focus on the task at hand. Nature always had a way of calming her, inspiring her next art piece, or in this case, centering her so she could break the world record of walking across the mall of Beacon Community College with a painted canvas under her arm.

"Finally," she whispered as her feet hit the first step leading to the hall where her life would change forever. She was bringing her finished piece to be judged as the last step in applying to a prestigious art program on the other side of the world. Each step she took twisted her chest into an ever-tighter knot.

Most young women would have received a quick text or call from mommy and daddy, or a hug and best wishes early that morning before heading out. Not Maize. She had never known her parents, so this was all on her. No matter what happened next, she knew this was her one shot. All Maize could do was let her hard work and dedication show, and hope it was enough to impress the panel. She smacked her cheeks to shake off the anxiety, then proceeded inside the building and followed the signs in the hall toward her destination.

Just as expected, Maize was not the only student psyching herself up right now. Dozens of other art and music majors hurried along in either direction, laptops, sketchbooks, or art canvases in hand. Some were laser-focused, others were clumsily tripping over themselves or struggling to catch stray leaflets that flew from their grasp, and still more were crying their eyes out. No pressure at all, Maize thought as she got in line behind several other students.

The wait was long, but she didn't care. She had made it just before the judges called time and they would allow no other students to join the queue. Beaming proudly, she stared down at her piece with admiration and hope. Everything in her life led to this climactic moment. Maize wanted this with every fiber of her being. Her time had finally come to shine.

Half an hour later, as she nervously took her place at the center of the room in front of a panel of stone-faced judges, Maize had half a mind to turn and run back the other way.

"Gods, give me strength," she muttered, hands clasped together in a quick prayer to the Divine Brothers. "Here goes nothing." She hurriedly set her canvas up on the easel provided, then put both hands behind her back in anticipation. A long silence followed, then…

"State your name, miss," a man said firmly, looking Maize up and down. He wore thick, black-rimmed glasses and maintained a stern expression.

"M-Maize Hale, sir!" Her voice cracked - not good. She couldn't tell whether the judges noted the slip-up, but any small mistake felt massive at a time like this.

"Hmm…" One of the judges, an older woman, hummed thoughtfully to herself, cupping her chin in her hand as she regarded Maize's work. Good hum or bad hum? Impossible to tell.

The remaining three judges stayed silent for a time, until one finally said, "Please tell us about your piece."

"Well…" Maize began uneasily, "You see...it's the tale of the Four Legends. Ruby Rose, Weiss Schnee, Blake Belladonna, and Yang Xiao Long. I painted them in front of the reconstructed Beacon Monument to symbolize resilience, working together, and hope." She ended with a flourish, then noticed a few head nods. That must have meant they liked the painting! A surge of confidence welled up in Maize as she continued. "And here I've included a bit of sunlight and a murder of crows to show that even in light, there is always some darkness. Maybe murder was a bit of an extreme example, but...hehe!" Maize's nervous laughter gave way to her signature snort. Damn, she thought. Not the snort!

Again, silence filled the room. Unsure whether to speak or keep quiet, she simply shifted from foot to foot. A full thirty seconds later, one of the women on the panel finally spoke.

"It speaks to me," she declared. "Nothing further."

"I do love what you've done with the shading," the man from earlier added. "How were you able to achieve that mixture of the purple with the orange in the sky?"

"I used a soft color palette here," Maize went on, "Then I brushed on the…" Her mind wandered as she walked the judges through her every stylistic choice and what she hoped were a few of the more poignant themes. When she finished, she spotted a frown on the last of the five judges' faces.

"All very nice, miss…"

"Hale, ma'am."

"Miss Hale. But...you seem to have entirely neglected the criterion of telling a story through your work. We all know of Team RWBY's exploits, but what story is this meant to convey?"

The other judges nodded, and began to further scrutinize both Maize and the canvas beside her. Things were quickly taking a turn for the worse. She had to do something, and fast!

"Who doesn't instantly think of the age-old story of the War for Remnant when they see Team RWBY? I believe Beacon itself is a place rich with history, and stories of heroic deeds, as well as villainous ones. We all see ourselves in stories like Team RWBY's: we fight a constant battle within ourselves, hoping light will triumph over our darker tendencies, much like their literal quest to save Remnant years ago. I may not have told a traditional story of good or evil, but that doesn't mean there isn't one here." She walked around to the back of the piece, making sure the judges could still see her as she pointed to a spot on the painting. "Isn't that life? Real life doesn't have just one story or theme - it is composed of many." Maize left an intentional pause to let the judges chew on her words. "So, why shouldn't art reflect that too?"

They were sold. The judges could hardly keep the corners of their mouths from curling into soft smiles. Maize felt ecstatic, but forced herself to appear calm and collected while she waited on their responses. One final question took her by surprise.

"One more before you go. What does this painting mean to you, Miss Hale?"

"I...I don't understand. I just explained-"

"No. You explained what makes it a skillfully crafted piece, and how it can be interpreted differently across a wide audience. But what does it mean to _you_? Why was there a burning desire in you to paint this for us, and not anything else?"

Maize thought long and hard before opening her mouth to speak. A strange calm washed over her, like suddenly everything in her life aligned. She knew the answer to the last question without any doubt. Taking one last look at the faces of the judges on the panel, she gestured toward the painting with a hand.

"Because I'm the-"

All of the judges flinched, and two of them cried out in apparent horror. Maize looked on in confusion, then turned to her painting and gasped. A thin trickle of orange trailed across the canvas like someone was tearing the paper in two with their hands. The edges of the deformity darkened and curled. Maize's mind took several seconds to catch up to what was happening in front of her, because it seemed so impossible. Then the unmistakable smell of burning paper hit her nostrils.

"Oh no!" Maize cried, grabbing a nearby sheet and throwing it over the canvas in an attempt to put the flames out. Instead, they only grew stronger. A minute or so later, the sprinklers came on in the building, and everyone but Maize and the judges evacuated. In the end, she was left kneeling in front of her smoldering, dampened, and ruined artwork, tears streaming down her cheeks. Her dreams had quite literally gone up in flames.

That evening, as Maize strolled down the familiar sidewalk leading to her apartment on campus, she hardly felt like herself anymore. All sound, touch, smell, and visual stimuli around her were dull and lifeless. Even the catcalls from drunk guys and ignorantly loud partying several blocks away barely registered. She took one zombie-like step toward the front door of the complex and could go no further. Maize dropped her books and notepad, fell to her knees, and cried once more.

"Maize Hale?" came an unfamiliar male voice.

Eyes still hot with tears, Maize turned and looked up at the stranger. He was fair-skinned and handsome, around her age, or maybe older, with slicked-back dark hair. The suit he was wearing had to be worth more than anything she owned. Who was he, and how in the world did he know her?

"Yes," she sputtered, "I'm Maize."

"I believe I owe you an explanation. Many apologies for the delay."

"What?" Maize accepted his gentlemanly offer to help her up, completely lost.

"Something inexplicable has just happened in your life, has it not, Maize?"

"Yes, but…" She paused and stepped back in apprehension. "How did you know that?"

"I'll need to take you to my home to give you a more thorough explanation, but for now, the short of it is this."

The man gave a quick bow as if out of respect, causing Maize to raise an eyebrow. Either this was one hell of a pickup line setup, or he was several centuries out of touch. Or both.

"You, my dear, have just become a Maiden."


	2. Introduction-2

2 - C

Her fists unleashed fury like no other on the defenseless punching bag. Even with her hands wrapped in protective bandages, Crystal felt the skin on her knuckles going raw with each strike. She knew doing this would not bring them back, but it sure as hell made her feel better than laying around feeling sorry for herself. Ten years hadn't dulled the pain, and she couldn't punch _their_ faces, so his would have to do.

Crystal paused to wipe her forehead with a towel, letting out a deep breath. Her muscles tensed, then relaxed as she moderated her breathing the way she had been taught. She peered at the shabbily taped face of the man directly responsible for her parents' death, and rage boiled inside her. The face was hardly recognizable anymore after the treatment she gave it, but even its current misshapen form triggered Crystal's most tender memories. Taking a moment to concentrate, she assumed a static pose and activated her aura. A rush of energy coursed through her, healing her bruises and revitalizing her in seconds. Crystal smiled. In this condition, she could take on the world.

Once again, as she had dozens of times before, she reared back and gave the punching bag a fierce punch strong enough to break its chain and send it crashing onto the far end of the exercise mat. Bad move, she thought, but worth every bit of lien it would take to replace. She had no regrets. Cracking her knuckles in finality, Crystal left the exercise room and ascended the stairs. When she reached the top of the second flight connecting the main floor to the foyer, Julian was there waiting for her. Her husband stood still, arms wide open with a smile on his face. He feigned surprise, watching her ascend the steps from her workout drenched in sweat.

"Crystal Flannery!" Julian exclaimed. "My, my."

She cocked a hip on the second to last step and rolled her eyes, laughing at his silliness. "What?"

"Oh, nothing. It's just that no one told me my wife would look _so_ sexy sweating in that spandex today."

"You don't look so bad yourself," she teased, stepping past him and giving him a light pinch on the nose.

"Now, isn't that insulting?" he shot back playfully, reaching back to grab her waist and pull her into his arms. She smiled as their mouths met in a warm, passionate kiss. His unforgettable eyes, like shining nickels inside a face sculpted as perfectly as if it were carved by gods, stared into her amber eyes with overpowering desire. Seconds later, she pulled away, to Julian's dismay.

"Hey, not feeling it today?" Julian asked with a whine.

"You know I don't like feeling so sweaty and gross," Crystal explained, slowly unwrapping her bandages and letting her pinned up brown hair down as she headed for the hall leading to their bedroom.

"Never bothers me, babe," came the echo of his voice.

Crystal smirked. Julian was quite the man, and she still couldn't believe that they lasted through everything. All of her baggage and anger issues never once scared him off. Even looking like a literal hot mess had no effect on him. He was like a leech - albeit the hot, bedroom eyes kind. The kind who didn't mind if a kid came with the package, either. Julian Sterling was definitely a keeper.

"I'm gonna jump in the shower for a minute," Crystal shouted as she reached the end of the hall. She laughed inwardly when she heard the pitter-patter of his footsteps rounding the corner to catch up with her.

"We can do a lot in a minute," he cooed, smiling invitingly at her.

Crystal sighed, pretended to be annoyed, and entered the bedroom, leaving her husband standing in the hallway. He followed, just as she knew he would.

"Don't pretend to be a prude now," Julian said as he entered. She was already undressing, and he followed suit. "Olive's not due home for another two hours, anyway. I'll go pick her up."

Crystal laughed at the absurdity. He was absolutely right. She, Crystal Flannery, was many things, but never a prude.

* * *

Later that night, after Julian finished tucking her daughter in, he came to slide into bed beside her. Somehow, she couldn't help but feel that something was different now. He didn't seem to have noticed, but ever since their little moment in the shower, something felt off. Crystal wasn't even in the mood to do exercises tonight, which was rare. She lived to tone her - according to her husband - already perfect figure. Deciding to sleep on it, she faded into a deep slumber without protest, her man's arm wrapped around her in a loving embrace.

The next morning brought with it an inexplicable chill. Crystal awoke and gasped at the sight of her bed frosted over like it just survived a blizzard. She jerked out of place in bed, then noticed Julian was not beside her. Hurrying to her feet, Crystal realized that the floor, too, was covered in a sheet of ice. She felt her way along the wall to exit the room, finding Julian shivering in the hallway, Olive's cherubic body in his arms. Her soft blue blanket shielded her from the biting cold.

"Jule," she called out raspily, still not fully awake, "What's going on?"

His eyes were wild with something like fear, but less intense. No, it was uncertainty.

"I found you that way, Crys. I tried to shake you awake, but you didn't budge."

"I'm up now," she replied, rubbing her shoulders to warm up. She realized in this moment that he had not once asked her if she was okay, and had not approached her. Was he actually afraid after all?

"Crys, that's not all," he went on. "When I tried to wake you, your eyes...they did something. Flashed like light from the sun. But you didn't wake up."

"What? That's crazy." Crystal stumbled forward. "Babe, we can figure this ou-"

Julian took a shaky step backward. Crystal locked eyes with him, stunned by his sudden change in behavior. She could not believe that after everything, this unexplained event was what finally caused friction in their relationship. No words were spoken for a long time. None could accurately sum up what had just taken place. How many long years of bonding that single gesture unraveled with such ease.

"I-I think I'm going to go to a hotel with Olive, Crys," he said.

"What?! Wait a minute, Jule-"

"It's not safe for her here. I'm sorry. Until we find out what's wrong with you, I think she needs to be the priority." He turned to leave. This was unbelievable. Who was this stranger standing in front of her?

"Damn right, she's the priority!" Crystal yelled, anger wiping all memory of how cold her body was from her mind. "She's _my_ daughter! You can't just…" Her aura began to build once more, along with another strange energy. Something foreign, but not painful. Instead, it was like a piece of her she never realized was missing finally clicked into place. Disregarding this, Crystal remained focused on the issue with her husband. "You're not leaving here with Olive."

They remained at a standstill. Julian eyed the doorway from the other end of the hall, but did not move. Crystal refused to take her eyes off of him.

"Crystal," he warned, "Don't make me do this."

Full first name basis. Had it really come to this? Were they already that far gone?

"Let go of my daughter, Julian," she demanded. "Bring her here."

"I can't do that. Not in good conscience."

"To _hell_ with your conscience, Julian!" Crystal took several steps forward. Her veins bulged as blood pumped furiously through her body. "Olive, come here." The determined mother reached out with both hands. Olive's wet, innocent eyes gazed at her wordlessly, and both adults waited to see what choice she would make. In this tense moment, a terse but firm knock at the door drew their attention. Seeing his opportunity, Julian sprinted for the stairs with Olive in his arms. Crystal forced her creaky, cold frame to cooperate and beat feet across the polished wooden floor in pursuit of Julian. She caught up to him as he reached the bottom of the stairs and swung the door open.

On the other side of the door stood a well dressed young man of indeterminate age. His gentle brown eyes, dark hair and expertly tailored clothes made him appear refined, but non-threatening. Julian looked back and forth between the stranger and his wife, wild-eyed.

"Is there a...Crystal Flannery here?"

Probably just another crazy fan from her kickboxing tournament fights, Crystal bemoaned. Talk about pitiful timing. If she needed to clock her husband across the face in front of the man to get her daughter back, and then run the rabid fan off her property, she was fully prepared to do so. She descended the steps, temporarily diverting attention from Julian, and said, "Who's asking?"

"I'm Isaac Clay, ma'am." He bowed. Full on, like an old courtship ritual or the end of a stage performance. Yep. Definitely one of the weirdos.

Crystal raised an eyebrow. "O...kay?"

"I have news."

"Me too, pal. We all do. Pick up a remote and tune into Lima Lavender," she quipped, then slammed the door in Isaac's face. She promptly returned to the matter with Julian, eyes boring into him with a glare of unmatched wrath. They began to grapple, both trying to pry Olive away.

"Julian no, you'll hurt her! Let go!"

"Back away from me, Crystal! I'll call the police."

"Give. Me. MY. DAUGHTER!"

They continued to struggle in the foyer. Amidst their impromptu custody battle, the unthinkable happened. The man named Isaac phased through the door and materialized inside their house.

"Wha...what the hell?!" Crystal screamed, shielding Olive from the intruder.

"I do believe I've chosen an abysmal time," the young man stated. "But it can't be helped, Crystal Flannery." Both Crystal and Julian froze in place out of shock. "You...are now a Maiden."

"Get the hell out of my house!"

Crystal whacked him once, hard, with a nearby picture frame. Isaac looked up at her and, against all logic, smiled. Drawing in a deep breath, he addressed the couple lightheartedly after fixing his collar.

"_That_ certainly wasn't my most welcoming response so far. You're Summer, no doubt about it."


	3. Introduction-3

3 - B

Brynn was a seasoned traveler of infinite worlds. The places she visited were often captivating and wonderful, but sometimes dangerous and terrible. Still, she loved the experiences all the same. Anything was better than being cooped up in one place for years on end. That would be hell for someone like Brynn. All of her travels, however vast, took place without ever leaving the continent of Anima. Cue irony.

Her fingers delicately traced the smooth pages of her latest adventure, a new book by her favorite author. The breakout series The Clover Tales told many stories, transporting Brynn out of her suffocatingly regimented private school and into new realities. Every day, if only in her mind, Brynn left this place, letting authors' words weave a fascinating web of action, mystery, or romance that became her world for the next hour or two.

That evening, as Brynn sat up straight against the wall reading by soft candlelight, she wondered how many other girls here were doing the same. How many of them ended up stuck here because their parents misunderstood them, or simply didn't care? Surely, she couldn't be the only bookish 16 year old with an unbridled imagination. Stuffy school uniforms and rigid routines were not her speed. But such was her cruel fate.

The staff here and their idea of learning bored her to no end. If Brynn had her way, lessons would not be limited to a set time frame, or even a single classroom. She would teach students either outside or in, on a whim, and take them on field trips to see the Spring Museum that housed the Haven Vault. Speakers invited from places far and wide would come to her class, share their knowledge, and offer sage advice to hungry young minds. This day in and day out memorization and regurgitation of knowledge that passed for learning was an insult to true education. Brynn may not have wanted to teach, but even she knew there was a far better way to do the job.

She sighed as she reached the end of a chapter, then soberly closed the book and stowed it under her bed. Brynn blew out her candle and did her best to quietly slide into bed. Of course, as fate would have it, she knocked some small object over in the dark, receiving a prompt, "Shhhhh!" from one of the girls already in bed. Nestling into her soft bed, Brynn thought with consternation about the test awaiting her tomorrow. She studied until the information oozed off of her, but there was a good chance none of the material covered in class would directly translate to what they were tested on. Typical Anima Preparatory School agenda. She was stuck here, so she may as well suck it up. Her mind was alight with a million questions about that last cliffhanger, but there would be time to focus on that later. Brynn did her best to stay grounded in reality, however uninteresting it was, as she slowly drifted off into dreamland.

The following afternoon, Brynn smiled as she stepped out from under the roof of Anima Prep into the sunlight. Swarms of equally eager students poured out of the double doors behind her, spilling onto the sidewalks and parking lot like a colony of ants. They made a beeline for either parked cars or parents who stood awaiting their arrival. Brynn had no one waiting for her. She made her way around the busy asphalt jungle, continuing to walk until she cleared the school grounds. Beyond the premises, she gazed out at the familiar lake at the bottom of a lush, grassy hill. Ornate overhangs of vines and flowers decorated benches at the edge of the water. Trees dotted the area around the lake as well, providing a stark contrast to the tame and structured school environment she was confined to for most of the day. Here, nothing was orderly or mandatory. She could simply exist, and coexist.

Settling down beneath a particularly large tree beside her backpack, Brynn whipped out her well-worn book, barely containing her relief at finally having a chance to dig into the next chapter. Every inch of her buzzed with the fervor of a die-hard fan. Outwardly, she remained calm, but as she'd so often been told, one could spot a gleam in her eye whenever she sat down to consume a new story. She trusted that was the case now.

The many chirps and other utterances from the surrounding wildlife reminded Brynn where she was, subtly pulling her out of her dejected state and into a sense of calm. Nature had that effect on her. The inked pages of a good story took care of the rest.

Some indeterminate time later, Brynn looked up from her hardbacked treasure to spot a well-dressed man eyeing her from across the lake. Or so it seemed. She resolved to ignore him, since he was too far away to cause any trouble. Stranger danger was a legitimate concern - one of the few things her parents spouted that held any weight. Brynn examined the edges of her freshly printed text with a distant curiosity. A sudden reminiscence overtook her as she flipped the book over to stare at the edge of its spine. She was reminded of the spine of another book she'd read two years ago, now stained with blood and stuffed in a drawer in her room.

Anima Prep hadn't always been destined to imprison her. She once had a different life, and attended public school with other children. Back then, she read the now-stained book with every bit as much zeal as her current one. That is, until its spine conveniently found the back of a lunchtime bully's head. These days, that book was a reminder of her bleak situation. A reminder of how protecting the downtrodden was somehow okay for Huntsman Academy students a mere three generations prior, but contemptible in a modern world scared of its own shadow. The girl Brynn defended on that day became one of her dearest friends, but odds were slim that after the 'stunt' she pulled (that's what the education system and her parents called it), she would ever be allowed to return. Ever get the chance to spend another night staying up late with her friend, having a sleepover, or sleeping in her own bed like a normal girl.

Here, rules were everything. Brynn slept in a dormitory on the school property, condemned like a common criminal. Her parents merely paid for room and board because she was unwelcome at home. Visits were sparse, and always short. Some minimally thoughtful gifts arrived on holidays - always dispassionate and practical, like clothes or soap. It hurt for the first few months, until Brynn accepted her new reality. If she were lucky, at times her little brother would sneak in funny bookmarks or letters to her, but she could tell that it must have been a battle to get anything besides what her parents selected into the so-called "care packages." She missed her life, her freedom, her brother, and even her parents. At least, she missed the way they were before she was discarded and forgotten. But none of that was ever coming back, and her new life of restriction and solitude had no end in sight. Thus, books were her refuge.

Snapping herself out of the reverie, Brynn dove back into the world of The Clover Tales. She'd promised to stop torturing herself by thinking back, but sometimes she slipped. Soon, the intense action scene in the current chapter erased her worries yet again. Thank the gods for novels.

"Excuse me, young lady," came a soothing, silvery voice. Brynn jumped in surprise and looked up. The tree above her head appeared to have grown since she sat down, which was impossible. Wasn't it?

Standing in front of her was the man from earlier, hand outstretched, his neatly pressed suit clearly boiling him in the heat of the beaming sun. Sweat dripped from his forehead and face profusely, but he didn't seem to mind or notice. Okay, it was official: stranger danger time had come. Brynn flinched for a moment, then snatched up her bag, sprang to her feet and backed away from him.

"I didn't mean to startle you," he said. "I only wanted to introduce myself. I'm a bit...awkward with this sort of thing."

"Well, consider us introduced," Brynn replied, holding her bag close, as if it was a shield between herself and the man. "Now please leave."

The man sighed, but did not obey. He sounded frustrated. Hopefully he wouldn't lash out or try to kidnap her. Could she make it back to the school from here? Would he catch her? Maybe not, if she ran. Brynn realized she might have to take the chance. If she could just reach the top of the hill, she could find an adult to help her. Someone, anyone…

The man took another step forward, prompting her to take two backward. He stopped and pointed to the overgrown tree. "Have you noticed this, Miss Reed? You 'are' Brynn Reed, correct?"

New levels of freaky officially achieved, Brynn thought as she glanced from the man to the tree. Without a doubt, Brynn had never met this man before in her life. If her parents sent him, this was the creepiest possible introduction they could have planned. Why not send him to the school with a note like normal people? Not entirely convinced, she slung one strap of her backpack over her shoulder, turned around, and ran.

Several seconds passed before Brynn dared to look behind her. The man was gone, and only the sprawling branches of the tree remained. She huffed as her body used all available air in her lungs to fuel her escape, turning back just in time to run smack into the middle of something hard. Her bag flew off as Brynn fell flat onto the grass, clumps of dirt mixing into her vibrant strands of red hair.

"I must insist you hear me out, Miss Reed," came the stranger's voice again, this time firm. Brynn sputtered, wiping hair out of her face, and stared up at him. Apparently, she had run into his chest. How did he get in front of her? There was no way!

"O-okay," Brynn relented, seeing that no one was nearby to assist her. She had to hope the man's intentions were innocent.

"You see, that tree's growth is your own doing."

"What?"

"My name is Isaac," he announced with an exaggerated bow. "I'm here to help you."

"Help me? Help me with what?"

"Help you to control your powers. Brynn, you have just become a new Maiden."

Maiden. She knew that term. Everyone did, from the legendary stories of Team RWBY and their fight against Salem. Maiden powers were believed to be a relic of the past, no longer cycling through new hosts. More than a century later, and there had been no new Maidens since the war. So, certainly this man must have known he sounded crazy?

"I...I'm not a maiden." Brynn slowly got to her feet, warily accepting his help. "Sir, I'm just an Anima Prep School student. There haven't been any Maidens in-"

"More than a hundred years?" Isaac asked, echoing her as she finished her sentence. Brynn nodded, eyeing him with suspicion. "Very well." He pointed to the tree behind her, and then at her feet, where the grass had grown considerably higher than anywhere else. Isaac shrugged. "In that case, explain that."

No matter how she tried, Brynn couldn't. She threw up her hands and turned back to Isaac, prepared to listen and decide how she felt about his explanation afterward. This couldn't be real. Oddly enough, this was the first tale Brynn actually did not want brought to life.


	4. Introduction-4

4 - A

Today was a bright, sunny day with a light breeze. The weather was just right for a pleasant writing session, Azalea thought as she settled down at her desk and prepared to put pen to paper. Her silky, jet black hair fell across her shoulders, peppered with flakes of freshly fallen snow. Azalea's fingers gripped the finely crafted pen carefully, positioning it at the proper angle to draw out the ink. She took a breath, then began painting a picture of the next part of her story. While usually episodic, this time she decided that the next chapter of her series would link back to a previous tale. In fact, she mused, maybe she should make another change, too. Instead of going for an action, thriller, or romantic vibe, why not try to incorporate all three? Best to keep readers on their toes, after all.

The quaint workshop behind her tranquil getaway house in the mountains of Atlas was the perfect escape, where Azalea could spread her figurative wings. Writing came so easily to her up here, away from civilization. She quickly churned out several pages of the chapter, struggling not to go back and revise her work. The intent during her stay here was to get all of her thoughts down in raw form, then come down from the mountain to her home to make edits and send the manuscript off, like she had every winter for the past five years. That is, minus the manuscript submission step. Only a few months ago, at the not-so-gentle urgings of her writing group friends, had Azalea found the courage to submit one of her manuscripts to a professional for review.

Her bold strokes across the page came to an abrupt halt when she noticed that patches of her hair had transformed. The shock was only momentary, and then she continued.

_So, it's that time of year again._

In her frenzied writing sprint, she'd almost forgotten that it was the season for her color change. Unlike most Faunus, Azalea looked fairly plain during the year, until her trait kicked in and triggered a whitening of her hair and glossier appearance to her skin. She had to admit, she had it easier than most when it came to discrimination. However, this did not help her in the competitive atmosphere that was the Remnant Bestsellers List. Azalea worked through lunch and grabbed a vegetarian snack around dinnertime so she could keep writing, uninterrupted. A full head of white hair greeted her that night when she passed her bedroom mirror. She sighed wearily, making a mental note to change out her wardrobe as she fell into bed and dozed off.

The following morning, Azalea woke with a yawn, grabbed her robe and slippers, and headed straight for the kitchen, fetching a mug to make coffee. Only her favorite warm brew could counteract the crisp winter air. She spotted a wondrous sight through her screen door as she prepared her coffee. While waiting for the pot to finish, Azalea gingerly stepped outside in her baby blue robe. The view of the familiar aurora borealis from here was one of her favorite things about the winter. Seeing the dynamic display of the color spectrum as it danced across the sky in waves immediately inspired her. In that moment, she knew how to end her book. The last two chapters had practically written themselves already.

Weeks had passed since Azalea's last foray into writing territory. Her editor was much gentler on her this time than he had been with her debut manuscript. She received comments on her second manuscript roughly four weeks later, which was considerably faster turnaround than expected. Sure, he had much to say, and a lot of it was hard criticism to take, but she learned from the multiple cycles of edits they went through in their initial interactions. This time, most of his comments were merely rewording a sentence here and there, or commas that she missed or unnecessarily included. Others pertained to 'fluff' in her writing that could be removed to make it more impactful. All in all, the review could have been far worse.

Azalea sat down to go through the comments one more time, much more at ease now than she was when the manuscript first arrived. Tonight, she would call her writing group friends to update them, and then would get to work on edits straightaway. Her first novel in the series The Clover Tales was an unexpected hit, but she refused to let herself get too comfortable with this success. Letters had started to come in almost daily from her fanbase. They asked for spoilers, when the next book would come out, and showered her with praise. The occasional critical review came in, but she had a thick enough skin after dealing with her harsh editor to handle anything they threw at her.

Speaking of her editor, the two had grown quite close, respecting one another for their staunchly unmoving views and willingness to speak up about writing disagreements. While typically more withdrawn and kind, Azalea's passion for her stories led her to become more vocal when the editor made suggestions that she objected. She found a side of herself she never knew existed. A side she hoped would keep her strong when she went on her upcoming book tour. She and her supporters here at home planned to start in Atlas, then fly out later this month to hit all three remaining kingdoms. The rush was exhilarating, to say the least.

Making matters even more complicated, there was yet another drastic change in her life. Azalea cupped her chin as she thought about how best to proceed based on one of the more detailed markups. Red ink splashed the entire last paragraph of the page. Outside, the darkening sky warned of an impending storm. Her forehead crinkled and she twirled a pen in her other hand, watching as the vine twirling around it grew. A small flower bud at the end bloomed and then frosted over.

Eventually, the thunderstorm began. Soft moonlight shone on her small town during the noisy spectacle. Azalea peered out of the window, finally reaching a decision. A few more pen strokes later, and she had resolved the majority of the comments her editor left for her. Admittedly, several of her fans were right - she would need to invest in a computer, not only so they could email her, but primarily to make faster edits. Her old-fashioned preferences would have to shift if she wanted to stay relevant as a modern author.

A knock at the door broke her concentration, and Azalea stood to make her way to the front of the house. Given that she hadn't been expecting company, she ran to check her hair and teeth before answering the door. A tall, slender young man was casually awaiting her arrival. He smiled when she opened the door, seemingly unaffected by the resounding claps of thunder. Azalea noted with confusion that somehow, he wasn't wet. His suave look, complete with a styled, full head of dark hair, shades, and an expensive suit, was unusual in these parts. She didn't live in the more upscale area of Atlas. What did he want with her?

"Excuse me," he said. "Azalea?"

She nodded.

"My name is Isaac Clay, ma'am."

Her mouth nearly dropped open as she processed his words.

"Isaac Clay...as in the billionaire?"

Isaac gave a weak shrug, tilting his head to one side.

"Ehhh." He gestured as if balancing two imaginary objects and laughed nervously, then nodded. "Yeah, that Isaac Clay."

This was impossible. He was almost like a little boy too shy to take compliments. Azalea found it quite cute and amusing that the independently wealthy Isaac Clay could act so...well, normal. Not to mention how demystifying this was to the character of someone so envied and sought-after. He looked slightly different from his pictures in the paper, but she chalked it up to the dim lighting.

"Wha…" Azalea struggled to find her words, her synapses firing a mile a minute. "What are you doing at my house, of all places?"

"I've come to tell you-"

A sharp clap of thunder drowned out his voice. Flushing with embarrassment, Azalea welcomed him inside and shut the door.

"I'm so sorry," she said as she walked him to the kitchen. "Where are my manners?" She started a pot of coffee for her guest and offered him a seat at the nearby table.

"Thank you," Isaac said, settling into the seat.

"What was it you wanted to tell me?" Azalea turned to face Isaac and leaned against the counter.

"Shouldn't we enjoy our coffee first, Miss?"

Thrown off by the sudden shift, Azalea paused, then nodded. A few minutes later, they both sat at the table having their coffee. She noticed something off about Isaac. He kept fidgeting, and his eye twitched a couple of times. When asked if he was alright, he insisted all was well. Still, something about this situation felt uncomfortable, leading her to ask him to leave once he finished his coffee. Azalea made sure to keep him in front of her where she could watch him while they walked to the door, just in case.

"But Miss Clover," he stuttered, apparently having difficulty speaking, "I haven't yet t-told y-you…"

She held the door for him. "Mr. Clay, please just go. I don't know what's going on with you, but-"

In seconds, he was on her, his hand at her throat. Azalea gasped for air, kicking and writhing as he lifted her from the floor with one hand, pressing her against the wall with visibly little effort. She suspected he was using aura to enhance his strength. Just what was going on here? Stars appeared at the edges of her vision as Isaac applied more pressure. In one last ditch effort to save herself, she called forth the rocks from the bed of a potted plant near her front door, hurling them at Isaac. He leaned to the side, but a couple of them hit his face, knocking his shades off and revealing a pair of glaring red eyes. She looked into them and saw nothing; no soul, no life. What _was_ he?

"Agh!" The man cried out suddenly and loosened his grip. His voice was now distorted - almost inhuman. Azalea fell to the floor and wheezed heavily, not having felt this starved for breath since the days when her asthma still gave her problems. Following the unexplained awakening of her new elemental abilities, all traces of her asthma vanished.

She looked up to see a pooling blot of red on the front of Isaac's dress shirt. He knelt, then collapsed, revealing a person standing behind him. A thick black mist arose from the man's body. Azalea thought there was something else inside the mist, but her vision was still too fuzzy to tell. When it cleared up, the mist was gone and a young girl stood before her, smiling down at her despite recent events.

"Yay! I did it right, didn't I?" The girl seemed to be speaking to someone, but Azalea had no idea who.

Seconds later, a man stepped through the door and stood next to the girl. He looked almost exactly like Isaac, only with slightly different hair, brown eyes, and no shades.

"Yes," he answered with a sigh, "But do be more careful about how hard you strike. You'll kill the hosts." He frowned at the fallen man, then crouched down until he was at eye level with Azalea.

"Who...are you people?" Azalea asked raspily, her throat still raw. Her aura control was not great, so healing herself would not be instant. Life as a writer wasn't terribly demanding of the skill, but being thrust into all manner of sports, music, and crafts classes as a child eventually led her to unlock her aura anyway. That was one unforgettable fencing lesson.

"I'm Isaac Clay." Seeing her eyes widen, he added, "It seems you met my impersonator. I am terribly sorry about this. We should have made it here in time. It's all my fault. Are you alright?" Azalea nodded slowly, still grasping her injured throat.

"Hey!" The girl beside the real Isaac winked. "I'm Maize! We're gonna be sisters."

Azalea rose, raising an eyebrow. "Sis...ters?"

Isaac stood up as well, and sighed. "This is my colleague, Maize Hale, from Vale."

Azalea's gaze flitted to Maize, who giggled.

"Yeah," Maize said. "It sounds funny, I know. I get it all the time."

"Feel free to ignore her...lively demonstrations," Isaac said, kneeling to inspect his impersonator. Azalea stood by and watched, unsure what to say next.

"They could have at least picked someone with less defined cheekbones and nicer hair," Isaac muttered. Then he hardened his facial expression, turned the man from his side onto his stomach, and removed his suit jacket. He pulled up the dress shirt to get a better look at the wound. Maize then reached into a bag and passed Isaac a cloth and bandage. He cleaned the excess blood, then placed the bandage over Fake Isaac's wound. In an instant, the bandage tightened over the wound and tore itself off. Azalea gasped. She watched as they repeated the process on the other side.

"There," Isaac announced with finality, rising and wiping his hands together in a handwashing motion. "All done! Now, Azalea Clover?"

Azalea flinched at the mention of her name. Her throat finally felt better, so speaking came easier. "Yes?"

"I believe you already know about your new powers."

Azalea nodded, and her blood ran cold. "Do you know what's going on with me? Why I'm like this?"

"We do."

Maize pointed to herself. "Same thing happened to me, too."

"You see," Isaac began, "You were attacked because you and Maize...are two of four new Maidens."

The words were not garbled or unclear, but they refused to sink in. Azalea played the conversation over and over in her head, staying silent as her saviors waited for a reaction. Isaac broke the silence first.

"M...Miss Clover?"

Azalea swayed to one side, looked up at the ceiling, and unceremoniously fainted.


End file.
